Sunday, July 28, 2002

A former hazer parks his car.

I rode my bicycle up to a convenience store this eveningg to purchase some adult refreshments. This guy comes in as I am leaving. He's got the almost shoulder length curly brown hair, a cheeseball moustache and that jaunty walk only seen in those that spent their senior years of high school giving freshmen swirlies and puttying icy hot in their jock straps. The kind of guy that really only fit in this word between the years of 1974 and 1978.

As I am riding through the parking lot and heading for home I notice a car that can only be his. I see one of those new shitty Camaros that have less metal in them than a Matchbox car and is has been parked halfway in the parking slot. The ass end of his car is jutting into the parking lot. I have always been confused by the mentality of those that are so important that they have to park differently than others.

This meathead's parking job reminded of a sergeant I knew when in Okinawa when I was in our glorious Marine Corps. He drove a Skyline which is a very nice car that has never been sold in the states. I think it was made by Toyota. It was a model of car favored by Okinawan and American gearheads. This guy used to drive while leaning over. He leaned over so far as he drove that his head was almost directly beneath the rear view mirror. He, too, was very cool and could not park like an average mortal. He used to park diagonally in front of the barracks and take up about two or three spots. I had a crappy 1978 Toyota Corrola that I bought for $500 bucks that I completely trashed. My Corrola is the only car I know of that actually had cockroaches. I drove it for over six months with a dead battery and used to push start it or park on an incline. I used to park next to the sergeant's Skyline. It was a silent protest. I'm surprised he never kicked my ass or at the very least gave me a nipple twist.

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